Oedipus Complex
by Randomfangirl813
Summary: When Vincent is captured and held hostage by Sephiroth, he can't quite figure out what the general wants... Or why the way he looks at him is so unfamiliar.


Title: Oedipus Complex

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Pairing(s): SephirothXVincent as the main pairing, Aerith/Tifa and Zack/Cloud on the side. May contain slight Valenwind and some Rude/Reno or Rufus/Tseng later on.

It was a murky night, pitch black as tar and seemingly just as thick. The rain poured in buckets, obscuring vision and drenching everything from the soaked soil to the few persons caught up in its raging downpour. It was the kind of night that inspired fear and caution.

And it was quickly falling apart as Vincent watched through wide and horrified eyes. He stared up into the face he thought he would never have to observe. He was looking at his child, those eyes, that face, he mirrored that woman, and for a moment Vincent was speechless. He let his gaze sweep the impressive figure greedily, and as his eyes met the others, his heart nearly stopped. Plastered upon the child's face was a smile so threatening he backed away instinctively.

"Hello, father…"

How Sephiroth knew, he had no idea, but at these simple words a rush of pure fright and adrenaline geared Vincent's response, and his eyes rushed past Sephiroth to the gap in the alley behind him, attempting to measure the distance he would have to travel to escape this horror. He had not even motioned to run, however, before Sephiroth blocked his path.

He gasped as hands slammed into the wall behind him, effectively trapping him and forcing his gaze back to his possible son. Sephiroth's eyes held almost none of the hatred they normally displayed, and had he been less of an impressive figure he would have looked kind, even caring. As it was, Vincent was forced to await whatever he had planned for him, and he did so without letting his abnormally calm visage slip.

"Have you, by now, reasoned out what it is that I crave from you? Or are you puzzled as to why I have come here? Tell me father, you never seem to let your emotions grace that elegant face of yours…"

Vincent remained silent, studying the cold features that were now posed inches from his own, and wondering if he would die in that dark, wet alley, away from the friends who had given his life purpose. Sephiroth leered back, and as Vincent did not reply, he drew back a fist and struck out with force that seemed impossible for such a slight build.

With a sickening thud the blow landed, and Vincent doubled over in pain. His breathing grew ragged and short, and his vision began to darken. He looked up at the figure now towering over him, and swore he saw the smile of his beloved Lucrecia cross the lips that were coming closer, whispering to him.

"I wish I did not have to accomplish my goals in this way father, but it seems you would not be accepting otherwise."

The words fell on deaf ears, as Vincent had already realized what was coming. He stiffened, wincing as the pain in his stomach grew. One of his eyes squeezed shut stubbornly against the hurt. Yet his gaze also remained fixated on the man who had grown so much, without Vincent to look over him, and who now so resembled his mother…

This was it. This was going to be Vincent's death, he was sure of it. It was fitting, so fitting, to be extinguished by the very one he had sought at different times to both destroy and protect.

_Only fitting that an angel should be the one to vanquish my inner demons forever,_ he thought to himself hazily as Sephiroth drew still nearer, and he looked down upon Vincent's face.

"Beautiful," Sephiroth sighed, gazing at his helpless expression, and he truly looked as if he enjoyed seeing Vincent this way. "See, is it so hard to let your face relax?" he asked, drawing him in by his soaking wet hair.

Vincent turned his head, watching the rain drip into the cobblestone streets. His heart was beating faster than it ever had, and he knew this meant it was trying to fulfill some of the beats meant for further in life in the short time that he had. He let Sephiroth's arms encircle him, and felt a hand at the base of his neck. At least he would die in the arms of her son, he needed to look at him and see his beloved, feel her presence one last time…

But before he could glance back upon the one winged angel and set his features in stone to his memory, he felt a pressure on his neck, and heard the voice that had condemned so many, whispering softly as if to a lover, saying the last words he would ever hear…

"Good night, father."

~*~

Vincent awoke to the sound of his own heavy breathing. He kept his eyes firmly shut, letting his other senses guide him. One wrong move could lead to the end of him. But wasn't he already dead?

Beneath him he felt the gentle caress of satin sheets. He ran his hands over the fabric, trying to be indiscreet. The cloth shifted easily under his fingers, and the softness felt strange against his skin. Something niggled in the back of his mind about that fact, but he shoved it aside and continued to observe. His hair felt looser than normal, his forehead bare, and he wondered blearily what had happened to his headband.

Light pressed impatiently against his eyelids, threatening to force its way in and stun his vision. He cracked one eye open and gazed about the room slowly. No one appeared present, so he let both eyelids ease apart and leveled himself up on the sheets. Almost everything in the room was white, from the painted walls to the sheets and pillows on the bed. There were a couple chairs and cushions and a dresser, but no other furniture was noticeable.

Vincent shook his head, pondering whether or not he was indeed in heaven, something he had never believed in, nor expected to see even if it existed. But surely it must be, for he was certain Sephiroth had killed him, and where else would such radiance be possible?

He sat up fully now, glancing over the contents of the white room. The blankets slid down over his chest, which he now noticed was bare. Whilst cinching the blankets more firmly about himself, he felt something brush against his hand.

_His left hand._

He let out an involuntary gasp as his gaze shot down to his now bare arm. The mottled, violet skin looked at odds with the room, which was pure and tidy. He covered the arm self consciously, eyes whipping about as if afraid someone had seen. Pulling the sheets around his waist, he began to search the room from top to bottom. Finding none of his personal items, he sighed in frustration, collapsing to the easy chair in front of the window.

Outside, glittering sunlight illuminated beds of magnificent red roses surrounding a small garden. Vincent took one glance, and then looked away bitterly. Against his better judgment, he felt that just laying eyes on such perfection was, in some way, sullying it. There had been a bench and archway, and he wondered distractedly if weddings had been preformed there, or if it was too small. Then he reprimanded himself that he was probably dead, and thus there was no point to weddings of any sort, but as he looked at the hand wrapped tightly in the white blankets, he began to wonder…

The sound of a door opening startled him, and he whirled from looking out of the window at the wall running alongside the bed to glare at the opposite wall, where across from the bed, a door stood open with an imposing figure leaning out of it. His grip tightened on the sheets around his left arm.

There, in the open doorway, stood a smiling Sephiroth. He was leaning against the doorframe, clothed casually in a black turtleneck and tight navy jeans. Vincent watched with wordless caution as Sephiroth slowly made his way into the room. He noticed the younger man's eyes drift towards where the bedspread concealed the violent markings of Chaos. Vincent, however, was first to break the silence.

"Well, this settles the matter. I must be dead."

Sephiroth's chuckle broke the serious air and Vincent started in surprise.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize what you might think if I took you like that. You are, as far as I know, alive and kicking. However, you were also in serious danger of catching something such as pneumonia, so perhaps that explains to you your nudity. I have some clean clothing here," he said, gesturing to cloth slung over his arm.

Vincent felt uncomfortable, anxious with the way Sephiroth was eyeing him. It was not bluntly sexual or intimidating, but something about it set him ill at ease. He was looking at him expectantly, like he had already set guidelines on the type of behavior Vincent would exibit. Like he was relying on Vincent for something. There was also a hint of utter elation, a gladness to see him. But Vincent did not know what the look was, as he had never been stared at like that before.

Vincent rose to accept the clothes Sephiroth was offering. He stood before the silver haired man, realizing that to take the clothes, he would have to either let go of the covers or grip them with his left hand. He seriously tempted himself with letting go of the blanket, but common sense won over and he let his wrecked hand be exposed as he took the clothes Sephiroth offered. The aquamarine eyes swept over the diseased flesh before Vincent drew the left sleeve around it. He pulled the rest of what he now realized was a robe over his scarred body, tying the sash with as little movement as possible.

"This is a woman's robe," he realized, noting the way the robe hung and the way the measurements were positioned.

"My apologies. This is the only thing I have at the moment that would fit you. I'll look for more later."

Vincent nodded, trying to pull the sleeves over his hands and having little success. Noticing, Sephiroth turned his attention to one of the elephants in the room.

"Would you like something to cover it?" he asked, concern on his features.

Unsure of how to respond to the niceties now displayed by the former general, Vincent merely nodded.

"Bandages, glove, what?" asked Sephiroth. Vincent simply shrugged in response.

Sephiroth exited the room for a moment and returned swiftly with a clean white roll of gauze. Vincent flushed and mumbled something about not needing the attention that came with bandages. But he realized that he hadn't specified what he wanted so he couldn't really complain. He thus obligingly let the younger man wrap his purple hand in gauze.

He sat on the bed, looking down at the silver haired man as he pulled each layer of gauze taut before sweeping it around Vincent's thin wrist. His movements were efficient and controlled. It was familiar in its safety and comfort.

The skin on skin feeling, however, was foreign to him. He was used to having literal and metaphorical layers between himself and his companions. He made sure to separate himself, physically and emotionally. But it was not truly unpleasant. He had stiffened when Sephiroth took his hand, but now relaxed minimally, letting his guard down a fraction.

Sephiroth finished tying the gauze and bit off the end with his teeth.

"You shouldn't do that," Vincent remarked absentmindedly before he could help himself.

Sephiroth gave him a confused face, pausing in his actions to look at him. Vincent flushed again, wondering why he seemed to do so in the presence of his potential son.

"It hurts your teeth," he explained, feeling moronic. He wasn't expecting Sephiroth's reaction.

A big smile crossed the general's face, and his eyes lit up. He seemed as if attempting to hold in a burst of unexplained delight, but why Vincent had no idea. He took a deep breath and regained his composure.

"I'll keep that in mind," he replied, smiling less emotionally. He turned to leave. On the way out, he looked back at the raven haired man. A sheepish, yet hopeful smile touched his lips.

"Perhaps, if you are not too tired… you could make dinner? In a couple of hours?" his voice held the uncertainty of a child, something Vincent heard often about his own persona. He looked back at Sephiroth, who had not killed him yet, and was asking a simple task of him.

"Maybe. I'm not the best cook."

Sephiroth smiled again, calm face at odds with the might of his posture.

"I would be happy to eat a meal you cooked."

And he was gone. Vincent was left alone with his thoughts. He heard the same feeling in the words that he had in the gaze, but still could not decipher it. Sephiroth had spoken not as if to a lover, friend, enemy, companion, brother, role model, superior, inferior, or acquaintance. And what, truly, was left?

~*~

"I'm telling you, he's gone!" Yuffie screeched into the phone, at her wits end. "We were _supposed_ to meet earlier, but he didn't come and now I can't FIND him!"

"Did you try his house?" Tifa asked distractedly. She was no doubt with a customer.

"Of course, but it's empty! Not even a note!"

"Why would he leave a note?" Tifa asked, and Yuffie could practically hear her eyes roll over the phone.

"I dunno," she shot back. "Maybe, 'I'm on a spy mission, be back, don't worry.' He could at least, if that's what's happening. But I think he was taken!"

"Yuffie," Tifa started, but she paused and the ninja could hear voices in the background. "Now really isn't a good time…"

"Why not?!" Yuffie exclaimed, quickly losing her temper. "Vincent's my friend, and if you aren't worried about him I'll find him myself!"

"Yuffie… Aerith's alive."

The words snapped Yuffie out of her fury. A roar sounded in her ears, her eyes widening. She dropped the phone, shock washing over her like a sudden storm. Tifa was still talking, but Yuffie paid her no mind.

_Aerith… Impossible_!

Feeling guilty, she picked up the phone, still ignoring Tifa, and spoke clearly.

"I'll be right there."

_Sorry Vincent…_

Wherever he was, she hoped he would be okay.

~*~

Cooking was harder than Vincent expected. Sure, there were instructions, and everything was very clear, but Vincent didn't trust himself to follow the directions to the letter. He was sure he would mess up, burn the food perhaps, or mix it wrong. But Sephiroth was waiting at the table in the kitchen expectantly, so he busied himself with the stove and refrigerator.

The kitchen was decorated in browns and greys, warm and friendly. There were two rows of cupboards, facing each other, one with the sink counter, and the other with the stove/dishwasher counter. At the wall opposite the door was a cozy little booth-and-chair table.

"When will it be done?" Sephiroth asked from his seat at the booth. It was an innocent enough question, but the way he said it, as if he was delivering a line he had wanted to use for a while, was enough to unnerve the reluctant cook.

"I'm not sure," Vincent replied, hoping it would suffice. A satisfied nod told him it would. But before he could start on whatever it was he would decide to cook, Sephiroth held up an apron and cleared his throat expectantly.

Vincent's gaze hovered on the item, which seemed like a normal household apron. It was sunshine yellow with orange flowers embroidered onto the pockets. On its own it wasn't very threatening. The problem was the fact that Sephiroth was holding it and seemed expectant that he put it on. Realizing his dignity probably wasn't as important as pleasing his mentally unstable captor, he donned it as best he could. It fit perfectly.

Vincent wondered uneasily what Sephiroth had bought it for, but before long his attention was taken up by mastering the stove in all of its temperamental nature. By the time he was done with the meal, (simple hamburger casserole) the food resembled nothing more than a lump of meat and starch.

He was reluctant to feed it to Sephiroth, who had watched as he mutilated the dinner, but the general took it without a word and waited for him to sit down, which he did, removing the apron as he went.

Vincent was surprised on the first bite that it was actually quite edible. He blinked, wondering if the quality of the food was separate from the appearance after all. Sephiroth, however, ate heartily and demanded seconds while Vincent was content with what he had.

"Delicious," the silver haired man proclaimed, leaning back and wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

"Use a napkin," Vincent told him, unamused by sloppy eaters.

The same odd expression that displayed a mysterious happiness appeared, and Sephiroth obligingly grabbed a napkin off of the nearby counter.

Vincent tried not to dwell on this too much. He stood at once to return to the white room when Sephiroth grasped his wrist.

"May I have dessert?"

Vincent looked back at him, seeing a peaceful calm in his eyes that he had never seen before.

"What would you like?"

Sephiroth's face lit up yet again, and he asked Vincent for ice cream.

"But you could get that on your own," Vincent pointed out, watching his face closely. A dark cloud passed over it upon that sentence.

"May I go upstairs now?" Vincent asked, lingering in the doorway of the kitchen, waiting for Sephiroth's approval. He was wary after the previous reaction, as he had no idea where it had come from. The general nodded, disappointment upon his chiseled features. Vincent exited the door of the kitchen and turned to the stairs directly to the left. He swept up them and walked the length of the long hallway to the end, where the white room was.

It was just as he had left it, pure and untainted. He strode to the bed, closing the door behind him. Collapsing onto the white sheets, he felt drained and uneasy. Questions came like fireflies in the dark, each more confusing than the last.

How had Sephiroth survived?

Why was he living here?

What did he want with Vincent?

Staggering to his feet, bare as he was under the robe, he gazed out the window, lost in thought. As he did so he played with the gauze on his hand absentmindedly. The sun was setting, and its orange glow cast the garden in a new light. The flowers blazed like fire; the bench glittered with bloodlike light. It seemed more ethereal, more luminous. But it also seemed more dangerous, more animal.

For the first time, Vincent wondered how the others saw him.

~*~

Yuffie burst through the door at mach eight, skidding to a stop in front of a circle of people, all gathered around…

"Aerith!" Yuffie called, shocked as she had been when Tifa had mentioned it, for a part of her had doubted…

"You're alive!"

The young girl threw herself onto Aerith's lap, sobbing like the child she still resembled.

"Yuffie," Tifa began, and Aerith smiled and began to speak.

"There was an experimental materia, one that could theoretically revive Sephiroth, being perfected by ShinRa's top scientists," she explained. "They needed related test subjects for specimens, so they decided to-"

At that moment she was interrupted by the door bursting open and Cloud staggering in, a panicked look on his face. He seemed faint, and was being supported by a tall, strong, familiar figure.

"Zack!" he choked out before collapsing onto the nearest stool, where the dark haired man held him and grinned sheepishly.

"Yo," the man said, performing a kind of awkward salute. Yuffie stared.

_The world as we know it is collapsing around us!_ she thought, gripping onto Aerith's clothes. _What the hell is happening?!_


End file.
